


Sure Fire Winners

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Bottoming from the Top, Informal Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Control, Role Reversal, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has this fantasy, and Mitch likes giving Scott what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure Fire Winners

**Author's Note:**

> For Miranda, who wanted bottom!Scott.

“Have you ever even done this before?” Mitch asks, pulling away from Scott’s kiss for at least the fifth time. Scott is starting to wonder if Mitch even wants to fuck him, honestly.

“Duh,” Scott replies. Mitch should know this. Mitch should know everything about him. Mitch is clearly just stalling. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I do!” Mitch assures him quickly. “I just feel weird about it.”

“Don’t feel weird, just do what feels right.”

Scott tugs Mitch in for another kiss, but right before their lips meet, Mitch stops and grimaces. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know what feels right.”

“I know you’ve fucked guys before.”

“Sure, a couple times. But not you. It wasn’t like it is with us.”

Scott can tell this is going to be a thing. This is one of Mitch’s things, about sex. It’s that he thinks so hard about it. Scott… doesn’t. And really, he finds it a little strange that Mitch does; it’s a whole lot easier if you just do whatever feels good, whatever gets you off. Whatever your partner likes, whatever sounds fun. But Mitch likes rules and reasons and meaning, and this is obviously going to be one of his _things_.

Scott settles back against the headboard, ready to listen to Mitch’s thought process so they can work through it and move on and get to the sex, but he keeps his arms looped around Mitch’s waist, just so he can’t hop off the bed and start pacing. That would be a step backward in the evening’s timeline.

“What is it like with us?” he prompts.

“Well, like… Like when we fuck, you know what you want,” Mitch says. “You do things that are what you want. Whatever you want. Whatever feels good.”

“Yes?”

Mitch laughs softly. “That’s not what goes through my head.”

He doesn’t explain what does go through his head, and Scott doesn’t want to pry it out of him. Instead he asks, “Would it help if I tell you what I want? What feels good?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. Mitch actually looks eager at this suggestion.

Grinning, Scott slides his hands down Mitch’s bare, smooth thighs. “Then let’s do this,” he says.

Mitch’s fingertips rest on Scott’s belly. He looks unsure, which is weird because he’s no stranger to touching Scott, no stranger to teasing and tasting every inch of available skin. Finally, he drags his fingers across Scott’s hip bones, the creases of his thighs, hesitantly moving from freckle to freckle like he’s tracing invisible constellations.

Scott tells him: “I like it when you touch me,” and Mitch’s fingers press harder. He rearranges himself, scoots into place between Scott’s knees, lays his palms flat on Scott’s thighs. Scott tells him: “I like it when you taste me.”

Mitch licks his lips. Before he can curl his body forward, dip his head low enough to suck Scott’s cock into his mouth, Scott adds, “I like it when you stretch me open.”

They’ve never done that before, though, and Scott’s curious to see how Mitch will react.

After only a few seconds’ hesitation, Mitch meets his gaze and sticks two fingers into his mouth. It’s a performance, an intentional tease. Mitch’s tongue peeks out around his fingers, and his lips are glistening with spit as he draws them out. This is familiar, at least; Mitch has opened himself up for Scott before, back arched and wrist twisted awkwardly to get the right angle while Scott watches from across the room. Scott’s mind mashes together the image of Mitch fingering himself, the memory of Scott’s own fingers in his ass, and the fantasy of Mitch fucking him. He swallows. His cock throbs.

He spreads his legs a little wider, raises his knees a little higher.

Mitch finishes wetting his fingers, leaving a trail of saliva dripping down his chin. In one motion, he bends forward and wraps his lips around Scott’s cock, and his fingers slide unerringly to Scott’s hole. He pushes one in, lavs his tongue against the head of his cock, squeezes his free hand around Scott’s calf. Then he slides in his second finger, twisting and thrusting slowly. Stretching. They’re not even to the main event and Scott is about to come. This fantasy coming to life is too heady, too intense. Scott’s already having trouble thinking clearly.

“How long has it been?” Mitch asks. He licks his lips again. Stares up at Scott through his lashes, his doe eyes dark with arousal.

“Since a while before you,” Scott replies, which isn’t a coherent answer, but it’s answer enough. A long time.

“Pass me the lube?”

Scott feels around underneath the pillow until his fingers brush the little plastic bottle. He shoves it down the bed toward Mitch.

While Mitch slicks his fingers more thoroughly Scott starts jacking himself, slow and easy, just enough sensation to keep his body amped up. Mitch grins at him, clearly enjoying the show.

“Tell me what else you like,” he says.

“I like you.”

“Scott.”

“I mean it.”

“ _Scott_.”

“I like when you—”

“I like you too,” Mitch murmurs.

Hearing that never gets old. Beaming, Scott tries to focus. “I like when you… I like watching you slick yourself up. I like knowing that cock is about to be inside me.”

“Yeah, you like that?” Mitch asks. He drizzles a thin stream of lube onto his cock and smears it around with his palm.

“Yeah.”

“What else?”

“I like when you stretch me,” Scott says. “I like that a lot. Fuck, yeah, I need that.”

Mitch returns his fingers to Scott’s ass, and the first two slide in smoother now with the lube. Mitch twists and thrusts for a moment, drawing out the sensation, letting Scott get used to the fullness he hasn’t felt in so long, but then suddenly he adds one more finger, and he curls them just so, and Scott arches up, pushing his hips into the air, gasping.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, that,” Scott says. “I like that.”

“You gonna like it when I do it with my cock?” Mitch asks.

“Fuck yes, do it. Do it now.”

“You’re not—”

“I’m ready. Do it. Fuck me, Mitchy, come on.”

That momentary hesitation is back, but it doesn’t last. Mitch’s eyes rake over Scott’s body, the flush staining his heaving chest, the beaded precome dripping down the shaft of his cock, and then he’s moving forward, fitting their bodies together like a puzzle. He removes his fingers and replaces them quickly with the thick tip of his cock, and he pushes only slightly before pausing, his gaze again flicking up to Scott’s face for reassurance.

Scott reaches up and grasps Mitch’s arm, squeezes once. “You got this, baby, come on. I want it, I want it so fucking bad, Mitchy. Fucking give it to me. Do it.”

Mitch doesn’t need to be told again. He thrusts in, slow but inexorable, his eyes downcast as he watches his progress. His jaw is dropped open on a shaky gasp, and Scott can’t tear his gaze away from the shine of his plush, pink lips. At least, he can’t until he hears Mitch groan as he buries himself to the hilt, and it’s the fullest Scott’s felt in recent memory, and it’s so perfect because it’s Mitch, it’s Mitch inside him, fucking him, and they fit together, and it doesn’t matter that Scott can’t even breathe, it’s perfect.

Scott releases a sharp, loud breath, and suddenly he can’t stop panting. Mitch isn’t even moving yet and he’s overwhelmed. “Fuck, yes, yeah, I fucking, I fuckin’ needed this, Mitch, yeah, come on, babe, move for me now, baby, come on, fuck me now. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Mitchy, come on.”

God, Mitch takes direction so fucking well. He doesn’t waste time, sets a driving pace, slick fingers sliding against Scott’s hips as he tries to grasp them and gain leverage. Scott reaches for his cock, then thinks better of it.

“Touch me,” he says instead. “I’m gonna fucking come, Mitchy, make me come. Make me come.”

Mitch brings his left hand to Scott’s cock, leaves his right digging into the groove of Scott’s hip, and his rhythm doesn’t once pause or stutter as he begins stroking and twisting his hand, squeezing tighter at the base, then flicking his thumb over the tip to spread the thick drops of precome around. There’s a look of intense concentration on his face, his brows drawn together and his lips tight and tense even with his mouth open, and Scott wants to kiss him, he needs to kiss him.

“Come here,” he says. “Kiss me.”

They don’t have the focus or the flexibility for that right now. Mitch doesn’t even think before leaning forward, and he overbalances; Scott catches him at the shoulder, and Mitch’s left hand is caught between them, and Scott wasn’t quite prepared for the stretch in his back that this position requires, but it doesn’t matter because they’re kissing, and Mitch’s breath is hot and desperate across Scott’s face, and their bodies are grinding together so perfectly, and it’s everything Scott imagined it would be.

He realizes then how close Mitch is to coming; he should’ve recognized the tension winding up in Mitch’s shoulders, in his neck and the set of his jaw. He kisses Mitch’s chin, his cheek, makes his way sloppily back to Mitch’s mouth, and murmurs, “You have to wait for me, baby.”

Mitch whines a halfhearted objection and squeezes Scott’s cock, and Scott is so close now too. He wraps his arms around Mitch’s neck to hold him close, press their bodies fully together, and rocks his hips, thrusting his cock up against Mitch’s stomach.

“Gonna come all over you,” he says, and Mitch whines again.

“Yeah, daddy, come on, please,” Mitch says. “Please, please come.”

Scott can feel his orgasm coiling inside him, wound ever tighter by that desperate tone of Mitch’s plea. He pushes Mitch upright again, so he can get that perfect angle, so his cock will slide just right inside Scott and topple him over the edge. Mitch leans back on one hand, mimicking a position they usually use in reverse, and Scott’s hips lift, propped higher on Mitch’s knees, and it’s weird, it’s backwards, but Scott sees now why Mitch loves it so much, loves being draped over Scott’s lap and used like a fucking ragdoll, because it’s so good, it’s perfect, and Scott gasps, gasps over and over, choking on a moan as he comes.

Mitch fucks him through it, groaning with the effort of holding back, stroking Scott’s cock through it all, even as Scott’s come splashes both of them and drips all over Mitch’s fingers.

Oh, _fuck_ , that’s—“Lick it off,” Scott says breathlessly. “Lick your fingers. Then you can come.”

Mitch’s head falls back, giving Scott a view of the sweat beading on his throat, the underside of his jaw.

“Mitch,” he says. He’s too spent to really be forceful, and Mitch is squirming restlessly; Scott can _feel_ his cock throbbing inside him. It’s distracting. It’s wonderful. “Mitch,” he says again. “Look at me. I want you to lick your fingers clean. And then I want to feel you come in my ass.”

It takes a few eternally long seconds for Mitch to comply. He leans forward again. His lower lip is trembling and his eyes are screwed shut, brow wrinkled in concentration. He finally blinks his eyes open and locks his gaze with Scott’s, then slowly, slowly brings his hand to his mouth. His fingers are coated and slick with lube and come, and it’s dripping all the way down his wrist.

He starts there. He licks the trail up along the inside of his wrist, over the curve of his thumb, up to the tip of his index finger, staring at Scott the whole time, and Scott wishes he could come again because Mitch is so _fucking hot_ , and Mitch fucking knows it too, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he pushes two fingers into his mouth, all the way to the knuckle, and drags them out slowly, clean and wet with spit, his cheeks hollowed as he sucks.

“Fuck,” Scott groans.

“Please, can I—”

“Yes, yeah, come for me, come in me, baby, you can do it now.”

Mitch rolls his hips, a disjointed, faltering rhythm now, born of mindless pleasure, and Scott groans again, unprepared for the rush of sensation. Mitch whines, high pitched and shaking, and his hands claw at Scott’s thigh, scratching and grasping for purchase.

“Come for me,” Scott says, and Mitch does, his entire body tensing and shuddering as he releases.

As Mitch slumps forward his cock slips free; Scott catches him and lowers him down until he’s sprawled on top of Scott, cheek pillowed against Scott’s sternum. They wrap their arms and legs around each other until they’re a sated, breathless tangle of limbs. Scott doesn’t know what to do. He’s usually the one to clean them up, but this time he’s the one who’s a mess. And he’s too tired to move, anyway.

“I don’t wanna move,” Mitch groans.

“Yeah, me neither. I can feel your come dripping out of my ass, though.”

“What?”

“I can feel it.”

“Fuck,” Mitch sighs. “That’s kind of hot.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?”

“Yeah.”

Mitch taps his fingers thoughtfully against Scott’s shoulder. “Is it, though?”

“Yeah,” Scott answers, smiling. “How was it for you?”

Mitch shrugs with his whole body, trying to seem noncommittal, but Scott can feel his lips curl into a smile. “I could do it again.”

Scott hugs him tight. “Good.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
